Omega's Boring Days Off Work
by Mygrane
Summary: E-123 Omega: he carries kilotons of explosive force at all times and has all the mercy of a rabid polar bear. But since all GUN employees get mandatory time off work, Omega must now face the challenge of boring everyday life. Luckily, he's packing extra bullets! Also napalm, laser cells, throwing axes, bowling pins, and a LOT of unrestricted aggression! This can only end well.
1. YOU MAY TAKE MY ORDER OR MY BULLETS

**Well hello there, and welcome to #OMEGA. My name is Mygrane, and it's a pleasure to see you've clicked on this little story. You know, there really aren't enough stories about Omega in the Sonic fanfic community, so I figured I'd do him a little justice.**

 **"Justice." *makes sarcastic air-quotes with fingers***

 **So, just to give you some context on this fic before you drown yourself in it: I've honestly had a lot of trouble with fanfic writing in the past. Not because I'm full-on terrible at it, but because I'm reeeeeeeeaaaaaaally OCD when it comes to this stuff. That being said, the entire purpose of the following story is for me to not give the slightest percentage of a monkey's left buttock while writing it—an attempt to break the habit, if you will. This story does not promise to be good, it is not very calculated, it is not proofread. Frankly, it's mostly just me scraping fresh insanity sauce off my brain and throwing it at the nearest wall to see if it sticks… or if it melts the wall. Either is acceptable.**

 **So, to put things lightly, you have been warned. There WILL be cheese.**

Targeting System mode set: free fire.

Weapon of choice selected: 16" arm-mounted dual gatling guns.

Ammunition selected: armor penetrating rounds.

...Prepared to fire at will should enemy machinery show itself to be hostile...

"For the _last time,_ sir. We do _not_ serve unleaded gasoline on our quarter-pounders."

The large and heavily armed man made of a strong, blood-red metal aimed a duo of arm-mounted, massive machine guns at the drive-thru speaker phone of a restaurant. He was the last of the E-series robots, CODENAME: OMEGA-the most undeniably powerful automaton ever made. In his opinion.

"YOU ARE NOT CAPABLE OF CONVINCING ME THAT YOU ARE INCAPABLE OF SUPPLYING ME WITH A GRACIOUS QUANTITY OF BOTH FUEL AND COW MEAT," Omega droned angrily, not lowering his weaponry. His eyes, normally perfect red circles as piercing as his bullets, were now readjusted in slanted, anger-conveying half-circles. "MY SCANNERS DETECT HIGH QUANTITIES OF BOTH INSIDE OF YOUR PRODUCTS."

The car waiting in the drive-thru behind Omega-who was totally just standing in the middle of the pavement, by the by-peeled slowly out of line and drove away.

"I'm sorry, but you can't get gas on your burger sir... it's..." the drive-thru clerk stopped to breathe, trying to keep from getting angry. "If it doesn't come on the menu, you can't get it extra. I'm sorry?"

"IS THERE NO WAY THAT I COULD RECEIVE MY MULTI-LAYERED PSEUDO-NOURISHING PRODUCT AS I DESIRE IT?

"I dunno... buy a regular burger and add the gas at the gas station across the street?"

"A SUFFICIENT SUGGESTION," Omega stated. "I WILL TAKE A DOUBLE-BROILED CHAOBURGER, WITHHOLDING THE MAYONNAISE AND ONIONS.

"Do you want fries with that?"

"DO YOU DESIRE BULLETS TO PIERCE YOUR FLESH-BAG ESOPHAGUS ALONG WITH MY CASH PAYMENT?"

"Your order is $3.99 at the first window..." ended the restaurant employee meekly.

Omega retracted his guns, deciding that the building was not worth demolishing... for now. He walked around the corner and the order line began to move with him. A man sitting in the back of his pickup truck finished a third game of Euchre with the people in the Mustang behind him. Yup, the wait had literally been so long that people had started playing cards with each other between vehicles.

As the robot rounded the building, a mama Flicky bird flew from the sky to its nest, which sat in a tree beside the parking lot. In its beak was a plump worm with which it would feed the team of six chirping, hungry Flicklings that sat in the nest. Omega took out the whole group of them with a rocket-propelled grenade.

He clanked straight to the window where the employee from earlier—an amethyst-colored male Mobian bull wearing the generic smock and visor of his workplace—was waiting for him with his order already stuffed in a sack. "Thank you for choosing Chao Diner," he said in an uninterested tone. "Have a nice d-"

He stopped dead cold as he focused on his customer for a half of a second. Taking in the sight of the robot, his left eye began to twitch violently, while his right began to spasm mildly.

"I AM OBLIGED TO FORCE UPON YOU MY THANKS," said the blood-red robot as he accepted ('accepted' meaning 'tore away with excessive strength' in this situation) the bag from the bull servant's tightly clenched hand.

The bull teen's eyes yellowed with rage as he looked at the bright-red machine, and his nostrils flared and his breathing deepened to match. He had visions flash across his mind of how his entire immediate family was taken captive by Eggman—Omega's original creator—and roboticized into slavery one by one, starting with his now-deceased war veteran father; of how he had been rescued by world famous hero Sonic the Hedgehog, but in so quick a way that he hadn't been able to speak with his savior; and of how his family's secret fortune had been plundered and spent off by people he had once called friends, forcing him to take up work in a greasy fast food chain in order to raise the funds for locating his missing family members.

Oh, and on top of that, the kid was a bull... and Omega was bright red... you get the gist.

"YOU APPEAR TO BE DISPLAYING SIGNS OF STRESS," Omega observed, taking in the increasingly violent contortions of the amethyst employee's expression. "ARE YOU HAVING SOME FORM OF BIOLOGICAL SEIZURE THE LIKES OF WHICH MY MEMORY BANKS ARE NOT AWARE OF, OR IS THIS JUST A SIDE EFFECT OF SERVING BEEF BYPRODUCTS WHILE ALSO BEING A BULL?" inquired the Ex-Eggman Empire Champion as the rage-faced, yellow-eyed bull teen began to seeth anger-induced slobber from between clenched teeth.

"All of my training has prepared me FOR THIS MOMENT!" he screamed with a bloodthirsty cry, completely not caring about the fact that the only training he had ever received was La Crosse and piano lessons. He put one foot into the window sill, jumped up, and pushed off so that he smashed, long bull horns first, into Omega's chestplate, where he stuck like a sword in a dart board.

The walking arsenal did not react at first, except for one small, slow action where he removed his hamburger, which lacked gasoline as a topping, from the decorative Chao Diner meal bag.

Two seconds later, the bull teenager had been pulled out of the robot by the robot himself. Two minutes later, Omega was walking away with only the burger in his hands-no meal bag. Two hours later, a team of chiropractors and quantum physicists were pondering over how to safely removed the bull kid's body from the flimsy paper sack he had somehow been forcibly squashed into. Two days later, the story of his survival would make headlines across the United Federation. Two weeks later, his random little spout of fame allowed his lost family, who had been de-roboticized two months beforehand, to locate and reunite with him, and after two years, he would finish his high school education and eventually move on to receive a college degree in advanced plumbing.

In the present point in time, however, Omega was having a problem. He had to cross a street. A very busy, multi-lane highway, to be exact.

This shall most certainly not end in disaster.

 **Yeah, so, that's that. First chapter, kinda short. I normally write these things on my phone in my spare time, so other chapters will just pop up at random whenever I feel like it, and that's a promise. Leave a review! Or don't. I can understand if you're afraid to, you _COWARDLY DIPWIFFLE!_ (JK)**

 **Oh, and I lied about the cheese, by the way.**


	2. LOOK BOTH WAYS BEFORE CROSSING ME

**GolfUniformNovember: Wow. High praise and execution-based wordplay? Color me impressed. As long as "impressed" is some shade of lime green, that is, otherwise I'll be fine remaining my natural colors, thanks. But seriously, though, thanks pal. It means a lot.**

 **Guest reviewer: Thank ye, thank ye. My talking clam often tells me I am a genius, but it's nice to have a second opinion.**

 **Glad to see I've got a couple of peeps enjoying things. Last time I actually had an audience, I had tied them to their seats in a theater and they were really keen on screaming through their mouthgags while I read them fanfiction, and it was really impolite.**

 **Oh, and I also just noticed that the name of this story became OMEGA instead of #OMEGA, which slightly ticks me off. Oh, well. I'm not a hashtag person myself but it seemed appropriate at the time... bleh, honestly a pretty garbage working title anyways. Maybe I'll change it to O.M.E.G.A. instead. Anyways, here's the fic, but be careful; it's still leaking a bit of radiation.**

The big red robot tried his luck at taking a single step onto the eight-lane highway impeding him. In what was surely mere coincidence, a single car in the lane nearest him zoomed by as his foot made contact with the road, almost hitting his leg. Putting the motion into reverse, Omega returned to simply standing on the sidewalk with one greasy burger clenched upright in his mechanical hand.

"ROAD VEHICLES TRAVELING AT A DANGEROUS PACE," noted the walking piece of heavy metal (no, not the musical styling) as more cars flew by. "CONSIDERATION OF THE MENTAL CAPACITY OF THE HUMAN FLESH-BUCKETS THAT ARE MORE THAN LIKELY UTILIZING THESE INFERIOR DEVICES INDICATES HIGH CHANCE OF COLLISIONS AND DEATHS IF THIS UNIT SHOULD CROSS INFRASTRUCTURE."

Omega watched as more cars continued to pass by along the lanes of the obstructing highway. This construct in front of him made no sense to him. It was a flat plane of concrete, implying that it should be crossed easily, but the large devices called 'cars' came together to form an intangible wall and halted any advance.

Why the humans enjoyed designating areas for a conga line of fast-moving steel with the potential to smack into their own young at high speeds was beyond Omega. Perhaps they secretly enjoyed the idea of children being exterminated? If so, these flesh-bags must actually be suicidal on a genocidal scale... E-123 questioned for the twelfth time that day how in the world humanity survived long enough for something as advanced as him to be manufactured.

It was as he stood pondering the logic behind infrastructure in general that Omega caught a glimpse of a tiny squirrel with the intention to cross the road. It wasn't a real-world squirrel, however, nor was it an anthropomorphic one; it was a Ricky squirrel, a sort of cross between anthro and normal that could be found in many of the classic Sonic games (and Lost World). The Ricky sat on the corner of the sidewalk a few squares of concrete away from the comparatively massive E-Series death machine, its large blue eyes and button nose inspecting the road as though it intended to cross for some reason or another, probably to get over to the small park that someone had thoughtfully built a gas station directly next to. Ain't nature preservation important?

Omega's eyes flattened. Was this beast going to risk its life in such a trivial fashion? Was this supposed to be a joke?

Apparently not, because the tiny Ricky actually did try its hand at crossing the busy road. It dropped onto the first lane and crouched down as an unsuspecting car drove over it and barely missed smashing it with the wheel.

"YOU ARE GOING TO DIE," droned the machine spectating the squirrel. From the side of the sidewalk behind Omega, a passing, elderly heron woman with a walker gave him a sad glance. His whole torso rotated about 138 degrees on its axis and he apathetically returned the look to her. "YOU TOO," he said. She wisely continued to walk onwards.

Apparently the Ricky heard Omega's taunt and decided that it was unjust, because the next car that came went not over but under the squirrel. With sudden steel staining its eyes, the fluffy little critter jumped unnaturally high, bounced off of the vehicle's windshield, and continued to string several backflips together, springing across the roof of varying speeding automobiles and...

Okay, what do you mean 'an extreme parkour-practicing squirrel doesn't make any sense'!? We are talking about a world where a three-and-a-half-foot tall humanoid hedgehog can split apart a military grade robot several times his size while unarmed! And you mean to tell me SQUIRREL BACKFLIPS are insensible? No. Just NO.

Anyways, the GUN Semi happened to be making some rounds for no reason and Ricky flew into it on the second-to-last lane of this little interstate and every bone in his body was broken before he slid off the windshield in agony and was crushed under all of the tires on one side of the truck.

"I TELEPHONED IT," called the walking arsenal. Omega did give Ricky credit for making as much progress as he did, however, and permanently upgraded the E-Series' threat status of all small animals by two ranks, allowing them to overtake frying pans and heavily armed GUN infantry.

After paying those respects, E-123 decided that he would succeed where the diminutive forest denizen had gotten himself brutally squished. Deciding that his even metallic exoskeleton may not be able to handle the car wrecks (assuming his wide frame would no doubt suffer one in each lane), Omega quickly formulated a different plan of action that he felt was less taxing to his person.

Soon came opportunity in the form of a cheap-looking, camouflage-paint covered, open-back truck rumbling down the way with a load of beer-guzzling college 'dudes' of varying race and species hanging around in the back. (totally legal, no law-breaking to be had here). As this joy to society zoomed past the E-series bot's sidewalk spot, Omega reached out with his free, non-burger holding hand and gripped down on the transit's open tail gate.

Thanks to the force of going from 75 to 0 in .5 seconds, all of the passengers promptly went flying forward over the roof of the truck, while the driver of the vehicle-who happened to be a Mobian porcupine guy with extra-long quills who was only giving the deadbeats in the back a ride because one of them was his roommate-were flung straight through the windshield. The inevitable result was a plethora of purportedly innocent people painfully impaled in an impromptu pile on their perplexed porcupine pal.

And as those dirtbags screamed from the fall with the elongated, hooked spines of their chauffeur digging into them and not coming out because that's what porcupine quills do, Omega took it upon himself to throw the gripped pickup high into the air, and watched as it flew down like a metallic meteor and landed in the center of the highway with a resounding 'CRRASH'. It was slightly more entertaining than a non-resounding 'CRRASH'.

As was Omega's prediction, the cars on the road stopped moving in both directions when a random truck fell out of the sky in front of them. A few of them crunched together when the drivers in front slammed their brakes together, but the robot responsible for this road-block couldn't care less about the plight of the populace; he was more interested in the fake crosswalk he had crafted with his own ingenuity.

One brave (idiotic) man wearing a high-class (tacky and overpriced) suit stuck his head out of the driver's window of his slightly wrecked sports car (life compensation) and shouted (tried not to whisper) at Omega, "Dude, what is wrong with you!?"

Another driver-a Hispanic woman driving a minivan-fully removed herself from her vehicle, looked at the pile of guys that the ex-Eggman robot had left in his wake. She shouted with worry on their behalf while her much more proactive husband rushed to their aid, inspiring others to also abandon their vehicles in a great display of unfathomable human kindness.

Well, that happened. In a much more interesting part of this scene, Omega had safely walked about halfway across the street towards the gas station. His goal to drizzle fuel across his cheeseburger was close to being fulfilled.

When Omega had cleared all but the last two lanes of the highway, however, his sensory systems detected a Volkswagen filled with varying children who had likely been commanded by their elders to stay in the car for safety. Normally, Omega wouldn't have cared, except for the fact that his other set of sensory systems also detected the presence of that insidious eighteen-wheeler owned by GUN.

The driver of that devilish truck (whom anyone to have ever seen the vehicle in any Sonic game can easily assume is drugged, drunk, and clinically insane) had decided to pull a completely and utterly unnecessary ewe-turn after he had used his windshield wipers to clear Ricky blood from his FOV. Now he was moving his government-issued screaming, metal death trap in the wrong direction on the road, heading directly for the the aforementioned Volkswagen and the severely unamused war machine who happened to be standing between them and the truck.

Omega turned to face the semi with an aura of anger and the sound of several explosive devices being primed. He took two steps backward and, without looking, lay his food down upon the hood of the car, earning him strange looks from the kids inside.

"THE FEDERAL INGRATE DESIRES TO PUT ME TO THE SAME TEST AS THE SQUIRREL," observed Omega. He stepped forward twice the distance he had stepped back, arms lowered into a fighting position and claws clenched into fists. "THIS WILL REQUIRE TWO HANDS," he stated, an explanation for his setting down of the burger.

The truck was becoming dangerously close now. The children saw it and began screaming in unison. All except for one chubby little guy who was too busy salivating over the unobtainable junk food on the other side of the windshield to care about his own life. The semi then rolled over a hybrid car on its psychotic path, sporting so much torque, weight, power, and other truck-things installed that it hardly even lost speed doing so. Nothing would stop it.

A quartet of perfectly round circles opened on Omega's chestplate in response to this threat. "TWO HANDS AND SEVERAL GUIDED MISSILES," he corrected himself.

With that sentence uttered, the GUN truck covered even more distance. It was only twenty feet away when the missiles burst forth. A massive salvo of flying warheads got sucked under the wheels of the semi, detonating one after another until their combined explosions threw the multi-ton truck up into the air, flying just over Omega's head. With metallic claws, he dug into the long, steel bumper above and flung it around with a hard twist of his torso.

The GUN semi, by force of Omega's grip, went sailing sideways over the heads of the mass of adults who had just finished saving the multitude of idiotic drunkards, twisting and turning and barrel-rolling above the crowd.

Many of the women and men in that crowd made the mistake of looking up as the semi soared a rough seven inches above their collective heads. And on that day, many full-grown adults simultaneously crapped their pants.

 **Aaaaaaaaaaand SCENE.**

 **I just want you to know that if you're somewhat confused by some of the goings-on that transpired in this chapter, then you should probably 38y49u%*Q29 because if you don't, then you might (D*DUSUJJW )! and that might cause your cerebral cortex to JDQEWRTYUICOMKWATSOMOCHAOGARBLEBLORP all over your cat.**

 **And nobody wants that.**


	3. HUMANS CALL IT GAS BUT IT IS A LIQUID

**Hello. Salutations. Good evening. Guten Tag. Konichiwa. BonswhatevertheFrenchsay. Salut. Guten Abend. Gute Nacht. Guten Heimatlosenfriedhof. How you doing? Don't answer that question; I won't be able to hear you regardless of what your answer is. You could be suicidally depressed after alien sea cucumbers just invaded the world and sucked out all the brains of all things you find beloved and left you with only a transcript of this paragraph, but no amount of saying your answer out loud will cause it to transcend the barrier of the Internet and reach my ears. Unless you send it to me via review or PM, in which case I might even see it.**

 **Also, for those of you not initiated yet, this story got a name change this chapter! Much better than the dumb hashtag thing that the website wouldn't even let me put in the title anyways. Hopefully it's acceptable, but feel free to send a message if you think you have a better name. Enjoy the madness!**

Omega stomped his clanking feet down upon the light-gray concrete of the sidewalk nearest the gas station. He had crossed the street with little huff. In his opinion.

"INFRASTRUCTURE TRAVERSING MISSION COMPLETED SUCCESSFULLY," he stated, mechanical voice devoid of emotion. "SURVEYING FINAL RESULTS."

The advanced war machine rotated his head in a half-circle, scanning over the small mid-city highway.

First was the Chao Diner, now across the street from the hulk of the E-series, which (somehow) stood unharmed. The road itself seemed to tell a rather dissimilar story, as one could easily make out the figure of an overturned pickup truck in the road's central turning lane and a bunch of other crunched up automotives forming lines around it that stopped traffic. The infamous GUN semi had been tossed onto its side and now rested on a row of cars.

A mob of random people, all fully grown adults, stood across the way from Omega and, with the shocked look upon each of their faces, he did not require his advanced-level scanners to tell him that every last one of them needed a change of undergarments.

To complete this ensemble of chaos, an innocent squirrel's flattened corpse graced the center of the freeway.

"MISSION RANKING: A-97% COMPLETION."

Up above, a surviving stoplight switched from green to red, as if it were trying to tell (or yell at) Omega that this crisis could've been averted had he waited two friggin' minutes to cross. Omega sniped down the inferior device as punishment for its back-sass.

"MISSION RANKING: S-100% COMPLETION."

Taking shelter in the convenient store, the pump patrons of the gas station watched, horrified, as the monster that had decimated the nearby street approached, a blood-red armored reaper, fire reflecting in its eyes the same way hatred reflected off its soul, tiny hamburger clenched menacingly in hand.

Omega ignored the patrons, luckily, for they weren't in the way. His objective was oil, not body count. Currently, anyways.

Before the nearest pump stood an abandoned convertible vehicle sporting yellow taxi cab print, looking as though it were guarding the fuel station from Omega and his big, meaty-I mean-metal claws. But as you and I both know, dear reader, a taxi cab is as effective a blockade to a killer robot that wants oil as a cat is to a fifty-ton mouse that wants a cheese wheel. Less so, in fact.

Omega got a grip on the cab and flipped it over. The taxi cab did not object to this, of course, because as everyone knows, taxis can't speak, and therefore cannot object to being tossed. It did, however, pee its pants a little, because as everyone once again knows, taxi cabs are fully capable of wearing pants.

 _Do not question, child. The right for taxis to wear pants is the result of their long and hard-fought war against the Persians, and other hostile varieties of feline._

As the car fell, the taxi's owner-an African Federationalist wearing tacky shirt and hat, as well as a name tag reading 'Hello. My name is: B.D. Joe'-screamed. "My baby!" The store clerk wisely slapped a hand over the Joe's mouth and restrained him.

Omega looked from Joe to the now-crumpled, upside-down, alarm-blaring cab and drawled, "I SEE NO FAMILY RESEMBLANCE."

"What?" the store clerk asked.

"I SAID I SEE NO FAMILY RESEMBLANCE!"

"What!?" B.D. Joe cried.

"GOSH DANG IT!" the robo ranted, "IT'S A PAINFULLY OBVIOUS JOKE WHERE I COMICALLY MISS THE POINT! DID THE TWO OF YOU LEARN NOTHING IN CLOWN COLLEGE?"

"What!" they screamed in unison. Then the clerk thoughtfully added, "We can't hear your intimidating mechanical droning over the sound of the car alarm!" He pointed a funger at the cab.

"OH." Omega said, before he converted his arms into steamrollers. In a single minute, the cab magically became silent (and flat).

Joe screeched as though his heart had somersaulted into and out of his skull. He ripped himself from Mr. Clerk's grasp, becoming a panicked horse (metaphorically, of course), crashing through the store's doors, and bounding forth to his car's corpse.

He fell to his knees on the metal sheet. "You've killed her! You maniac! You monster!"

"I AM A ROBOT."

"She was all I had!"

"THAT'S PATHETIC."

"Whyyyyyyyy!?"

"BECAUSE I FELT LIKE IT."

"If... if only I could talk to her... one more time..."

Although he often wasn't inclined to empathize, sympathize, or pay even the remotest of respects to the lives of others, Omega felt something move inside of him. Never before had he seen a man care so greatly for a machine. After much deliberation, Omega realized that only he could fix the man's crushed heart.

...So he took his steamroller-arms and he crushed the man's heart. And his lungs. And his ribcage. And his face. And anything else relatively close to a corporeal body part. From the store, Mr. Clerk watched in jaw-dropped confusion/ horror as Joe became a poster-thin paper person upon his taxi. The end result looked something like a giant brown pat of butter on a very flat square of taxi-colored toast.

Omega stepped back and admired his handiwork. "NOW THE TWO OF YOU ARE UNITED FOREVER."

"Thank you!" Joe cried. Tears of joy flowed from his tear ducts, which you really couldn't see because they had been flattened below the other parts of his now deformed 2-dimensional face.

Mr. Clerk reeled, his confusion growing exponentially.

Because his heart (that is, his Human Empathy Artificing Reaction Transistor) had sweltered (overheated) due to Joe's love, Omega was not content to leave the duo on the pump station pavement, so he grabbed the flattened slab, raised them up, booted up his oragami subroutine, and approximately Pi seconds later the machine held in his hands a large paper airplane made of squashed human, squashed taxi cab, and squashed squash (Joe apparently held various thematically appropriate foodstuffs in his pockets pre-flattening. The reason for this is unknown.)

Mr. Clerk began suffocating on his confusion, for it was too large for him to breath through.

"BE FREE, YOU WORTHLESS CONSUMER ROAD VEHICLE!" shouted Omega gleefully. "AND YOUR TAXI TOO!" He then threw the airplane. Through the air it sailed, its grace unparalleled by any other flying mish-mash of yellow vehicle metal and human body parts (Sorry, Magic School Bus). Ahead of the pair was a future where the two would no longer be separated by trivial things like taxes or social interactions or speed limits. Not that those had ever stopped them before, but whatever! They would finally be forever together, free to explore their mutual LOVE! Glee ran through B. D.'s veins, and his laugh could be heard as he and his taxi happily sailed into the sunset.

 _Dong._

Unfortunately, _The Sunset_ was actually the name of the gas station's dumpster supplier, and Joe only managed to say "D'oh!" before the airplane fell in and the dumpster lid fell on top of them.

At this point, Mr. Clerk's confusion had grown so massive that it ruptured the gas station ceiling. It then mutated three heads, elongated spines, and a miniature Rascal Flatts concert, and-after that-booked itself a flight to Tokyo so it could get a start on its new career as a rampaging kaiju.

Omega turned toward the only remaining gas pump, as if what had just happened had not just happened. "FINALLY. IT TOOK ME THREE FLIP-A-DIPPIN' CHAPTERS OF SENSELESS BABBLE BEFORE I COULD GET ONE DIP-A-FLIPPIN' CONDIMENT." With this completely normal declaration, Omega walked toward the only remaining pump and, with his delicious burger clenched softly in his trembling claw, pulled the nozzle from its slot.

'Please select a payment option,' read the pump.

Omega glared at it with the heat and force of an inverse supernova.

'Holy Mother Geneva Convention.' the pump now read. 'Take all my gas, take my money, take my rewards card, just don't hurt me!'

"PROVIDE ME WITH YOUR OIL, INFERIOR MACHINE."

'...

'My what?'

"WHAT ARE YOU, DEAF? GIVE ME YOUR OIL!"

For the record, gas pumps do not have ears. "But... but... I'm a GAS pump. I don't _do_ oil...' it protested.

Omega glared at it with the heat and force of an _inverse_ inverse supernova.

In a process not dissimilar to a man spewing grape juice from his earlobes, the gas pump spewed oil from the nozzle-the only reason that it managed this was because it's fear of Omega spontaneously provided it with the willpower to break the laws of physics, creating a wormhole somewhere within its hose that sapped oil off of some far off rig in the middle of the Pacific. Keep in mind that this particular gas pump exists on Mobius, not Earth, and the ocean in question only exists on one of those two planets.

The black liquid oozed across the pavement, and Omega chortled gleefully (while deactivating the disintegration ray he had been preparing for the non-compliant pump) as he removed the upper bun of the burger and brought the delicate meat up to meet the most succulent condiment a machine can acquire. So great was the cheerful robot's delight when the sauce made contact with the beef that he accidentally launched a round of fireworks from his shoulders, vermillion and azure and emerald spirals that swirled their way into the heavens and combusted into dazzling starbursts while also setting fire to a passing biplane.

"FINALLY!" Omega shouted, holding his double-broiled oil burger to the heavens so that it could outshine them (It didn't for obvious reason, but don't tell Omega that). "I HAVE FINALLY DONE IT! NO ABSURD DISTRACTION IN THIS WORLD COULD PREVENT ME FROM ACHIEVING MY GOALS!"

Unfortunately for Omega, the basic principle of Murphy's Law states that saying anything remotely close to "Nothing can stop me!" is almost a guaranteed method for conjuring up something that could stop him.

The gas pump began to rattle.

"YES," continued an oblivious and uncaring murder machine. "THERE IS, IN FACT, NOTHING IN THE KNOWN UNIVERSE THAT COULD POSSIBLY DEPRIVE ME OF THIS SENSATION OF UNBRIDLED VICTORY."

Somewhere along the central span of the hose, a massive sphere of pressure appeared like a mouse in a snake's belly, and crawled its way the nozzle, which happened to have been dropped on the ground in such a way that the hole pointed directly at Omega's precious, exposed food product.

"BECAUSE I AM AWESOME AND SUPERIOR TO HUMANKIND AND IMMUNE TO THE UNIVERSAL KARMA THAT MY ACTIONS WOULD BRING ABOUT IN A FAIR WORLD."

Suddenly, in a vision-obscuring burst of flying oil, the dark figure that had been crawling through the pipeline of oil launched with eye-burring speed at Omega's burger-holding claw, its own claws extended in feral slashing position, its eyes glinting with a hazy, malice-filled reflection of the sesame seed buns.

Then Omega used his free hand to slam dunk the intruder's face into the concrete.

"I TOLD YOU, SISTER!" he declared. For a robot speaking in a monotone, his voice sounded rather singsong. "KARMA IMMUNE!"

It was around that moment that Omega realized that he needed to watch his language. He was starting to speak as though he had more personality than the average robot did, and that didn't synergize too well with the "Uncaring murder-inclined machine" image that he had worked so hard to cultivate. To correct his slip up, Omega immediately turned to his inky assailant, and interrogated him in his usual droning tone: "YOU THERE. INFERIOR MORTAL BEING. YOU HAVE ATTEMPTED AN ATTACK UPON MY HARD-WON NOURISHMENT. I WILL GIVE YOU TWO SECONDS TO EXPLAIN YOURSELF BEFORE I VAPORIZE YOU. PLEASE NOTE THAT YOU WILL BE VAPORIZED REGARDLESS OF WHETHER OR NOT YOU PROVIDE A SATISFACTORY ANSWER."

Growling, the figure peeled his face from the concrete. With a start, Omega recognized that the creature was, in fact, a hedgehog. A black hedgehog. A particular hedgehog that he recognized well enough.

Meanwhile, while that was happening, a completely unrelated incident was also going on somewhere in an unnamed African country as some poor explorer had fallen off of a cliff, and was currently hanging from a branch for dear life. If I were you, dear reader, I would seek him out and help him up while you wait for the next chapter to release.

 ***gasp!* Another main series character joins the fabula of this tale! And they have it out for Omega, I guess. How intriguing. It's too bad we have to wait for that dude in *Africa to stop hanging from cliffs, otherwise* I'd post *the* next chapter imm*ediate*ly* and-**

 *****What the-?***

 ***What*the-!?"******

 ***OK, WHO LET*** ALL THESE * * * BLASTED ASTERISKS IN HERE**!? I*MMA K*LL *EM! WI*LL S*MEB*DY GET*ME A BLO*DY FL**PING FLY SWATTER, P*L*E*A*S*E?**


End file.
